The Lost Book of the White (The Eldest Curses #2) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,31

of his eye, trailing down his cheek, curling under his jaw so Magnus was held still for a moment. Then Alec let out a long breath. Magnus hadn’t even noticed the tension Alec was holding, but he felt when it dissipated and the taut line of Alec’s shoulders eased.

Magnus found himself sitting up again. He balled up the shirt, now totally free of his body, and tossed it aside. He reached for Alec and gathered him into his lap, and Alec kissed him again. Magnus wove a hand through Alec’s hair and tugged a little to bring him even closer, catching Alec’s sharply torn breath in his own mouth. The kiss went from light to heat. Magnus curled two fingers into the knot holding Alec’s towel together, and sealed the space between them, so not even the moonlight through the curtains could slide between their bodies. Alec didn’t break that craving, clinging kiss as his hands slid up Magnus’s arms and their kisses grew wilder, a savage accompaniment to the sweet interplay of touch and heat and pressure.

Their bodies pressed together hard. Magnus’s head was full of smoke and his skin alive with fire as he reached down and deftly peeled away Alec’s towel. The towel quickly went the way of the shirt.

“We’re still us,” Alec whispered to Magnus, and Magnus felt a wave of love and desire go through him, fervent desire. They loved Max, they loved him more than life itself, but it was also true: they were still them.

“To always being us,” Magnus murmured, and pulled Alec down onto the bed with him.

* * *

AFTERWARD, THEY LAY IN EACH other’s arms, breathing together quietly. Moonlight came in through the window, and the ambient glow of the French Concession outside. An unknown amount of time passed, and then Magnus heard Alec’s muffled voice: “I hate to spoil the mood, and I would honestly be happy just staying here and not moving ever again, but… I need to sleep, or we’re going to have to fight through demons and jet lag.”

“I’ve got it,” Magnus said, and he raised his hand in the air and waved it, making whorls of golden dust in the air that, he knew, would settle upon them gently and lull them into an easy slumber.

Or that was the plan, anyway. Instead Magnus felt a jolt of magic burst into his hand from the warm node in the center of his chest, and way more sleep dust than he’d intended appeared in the air, then fell in a clump directly onto their faces. Alec sputtered and laughed. “What was that?” he said, his eyes already closed, and then he went limp against the pillow and began to snore gently.

“I seem to be having some issues with calib—” said Magnus, and then he too was asleep.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING MAGNUS WOKE to find himself alone. Alec had gotten up at daybreak, along with the other Shadowhunters, and they had all gone to the Institute. Alec left a note saying he had let Magnus sleep because he seemed to need it—which made Magnus immediately suspicious. After all, he had a more direct connection to the Ke family than any of them; why had they not wanted him to come with them?

He trailed wearily into the bathroom. He splashed water on his tired face and stared into the gold-framed glass above the porcelain-and-walnut sink. The jagged line carved into his chest stared back at him, still emanating its strange light. He was being ridiculous, he told himself—Alec was always forthright with him, and if he said he let Magnus sleep because he seemed to need the sleep, then he was surely telling the truth.

The velvet curtains were tightly shut across the tall balcony doors, the rattle and purr of the busy city morning muffled. The dimness made everything look shadowy, even Magnus’s eyes. He opened the curtains and squinted into the light.

He put on clothes—Shanghai was hot and muggy, as always, so Magnus opted for white linen pants, a guayabera, and a white Panama hat—and went downstairs, wondering if it was too late for breakfast. Attached to the hotel was an enclosed garden, its walls tall, white, and adorned with loops of white stone made to resemble wrought ironwork. He found himself wandering out into it, enjoying the sun on his face. Tourists wandered the graveled paths, elegantly dressed; Magnus counted at least ten languages being spoken in his immediate vicinity. Deep red flowers grew on bushes here,